A few days ago a wrote about the amount of plastic floating in the Italian sea. Plastic bottles are a recurring culprit, or rather the people that use them are, and in Italy that’s pretty much everyone, because everyone drinks bottled water here. This seems crazily wasteful to me, but it’s just the culture here. I’ve been refilling my bottles from any hosepipe and toilet tap that I can find, and today was the first time I woke up with a sore stomach, and that could’ve been caused by the questionably runny eggs I ate for dinner.

Feeling a bit weak and sick, I battled through my morning shift, and stopped at le Balle del Mastro, a beach restaurant with pictures of the owner’s face plastered all over the walls like propaganda posters of a dictator (except he was smiling).

I ordered a massive plate of penne al sugo di pomodoro, the simplest dish on the menu, but with parmesan and basil, one of the most delicious. My sugars spiked but less than two hours later were stable at a good level – result!

I had the honour of meeting Mastro himself, who gave me his business card, and then I headed off, feeling stronger.

After a few hundred kilometres of unbroken beach, I finally reached a section of cliffs, which was a welcome change. What is it about cliffs that satisfies the soul? I think it’s the beauty we see in the expression of nature’s creativity, just like a wild flower meadow is more beautiful than the monoculture of a lawn. In their diversity of form, rocks are alive, and life has inherent value. It’s a funny how, particularly as I get more fatigued, I see more and more faces in rocks. It doesn’t surprise me that rocks and mountains have inspired so many myths and legends over the years.